


Prey

by sekaiseifuku



Category: Tokyo Babylon
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Sei-chan stalking like a stalker, Subaru making poor decisions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8886796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sekaiseifuku/pseuds/sekaiseifuku
Summary: Subaru has to do something to keep living.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [empty_throne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empty_throne/gifts).



Subaru Sumeragi had his first sexual encounter at the age of eighteen.

Takeuchi-san had been a doctor from an old family that had recently come into the possession of a sword, that haunted by the angry spirit of its former owner. Subaru was by then accustomed to the frequent gestures of appreciation and interest from clients, so the invitation Takeuchi-san extended after the exorcism itself wasn’t what had caught him off guard.

What had surprised him was the fact that he had accepted.

It had turned out to be an entirely satisfactory experience. Takeuchi-san had been kind and attentive, considerate of Subaru’s lack of experience and generous with his affections. Even so, Subaru had declined the offer to continue their association without a second thought.

He was, after all, entirely unsuited for any kind of romantic entanglement.

Subaru did not consider himself promiscuous by any stretch of the imagination, but there was no escaping the fact this pattern had repeated itself more than a handful of times in the years since his night with Takeuchi-san. Tonight had been Hiroshi---no last name---a 30-something investment banker. He’d been particularly vigorous in bed, which had been pleasurable at the time, but was now making Subaru’s walk back to his apartment somewhat … uncomfortable.

As he climbed the stairs to the second floor, the low thrum of residual power sent a shiver up his spine. Turning the corner, he caught sight of a small square of paper stuck to his front door. Even before he could make out the characters scrawled on its surface, there was no mistaking who had left it behind.

 _Subaru-kun,_  
_Quite the pattern you’ve developed._  
_I’m touched, truly._  


The only signature was the faint hint of cigarette smoke that still lingered in the air.

****

Every year, police departments across the greater Tokyo area received a large number of missing persons reports. Being such a large area, involving three prefectures and a special administrative zone, cooperation among the jurisdictions was the exception, rather than the rule. If all of this data had been compiled and examined, perhaps someone might have noticed a striking similarity among a few dozen reports filed since 1993, all involving men in their late twenties and early thirties, all of whom were well-educated professionals who wore corrective lenses.

On January 18, 1997, in a nondescript high rise apartment building in one of the dozens of bed towns surrounding Tokyo proper, Mrs. Hiroshi Fujimoto phoned the local police and increased then number of such reports by one. Her husband---34, Section Manager at the Bank of Japan---hadn’t returned home from work on Monday and hadn’t shown up at the office on Tuesday.

Someone examining these reports in aggregate might come to the conclusion that there was a serial killer loose in the capital who was pursuing a certain type of victim. As the individual responsible for these disappearances, however, Seishirou Sakurazukamori could have told such an examiner that while the serial killer assessment was technically correct, it was not _he_ who was determining the victims, or their type.

That was all Subaru.

It had been cute at first. Seishirou had always made it a point to keep an eye on his prey, and watching him finally emerge from that incredibly cliche funk to once again engage with the world around him had been almost delightful. And it had been only a matter of time before Subaru had finally given in to his raging teenage hormones. Sexual indulgence was, after all, a natural part of the human experience.

As such, Seishirou had been willing to let the first few times slide. Only, witnessing how oblivious Subaru was to what he was actually doing got very old, very fast.

In the years since Subaru’s sexual awakening, he’d had a virtual parade of throwaway sexual partners, each resembling Seishirou himself to a shocking degree. And what was absolutely maddening was that, to this day Subaru remained completely unaware of this fact. After Conquest #6 (Tsuyoshi Nakada, 35, Lead Marketer for Household Products at AEON Corporation), Seishirou had decided that he was finished tolerating others touching his property and decided to take the appropriate retributory steps.

Thanks to Subaru’s ever-increasing appetite for the one thing he wouldn’t allow himself to have, the Tree had never been so well fed.

It had reached the point, however, where Seishirou had had enough. 

****

Shinjuku 2-chome was not a large neighborhood; however, it had enough bars, clubs, and lounges that Subaru could visit whenever he liked and avoid frequenting one more than the others. He was known to the owners of a few of the smaller, more intimate venues, but he rarely encountered the same patrons twice. He had also never once run into a former partner a second time, which was something he had always wanted to avoid.

Rusty bells jangled as he pulled open the bright yellow door of Bar PINK, a basement level lounge tucked away in a side street just off the main road.

“Takeshi-kun!” the Mama-san shouted from across the tiny bar, “it’s been forever and a day!”

Subaru, like many who frequented this district, had a number of different aliases he used. Here, he was Takeshi---no last name, an auditor at an unnamed international accounting firm.

“I’m so sorry, Mama-san, I’ve been away on a business trip,” he offered in explanation. He took off his coat, hung it on rack on the wall, and took a seat at the end of the bar.

“You work too hard,” she scolded as she pulled the green bottle labeled “Takeshi” from the shelf. She grabbed a lowball glass, added a few cubes of ice, and filled it to the brim before passing it across the bar. “All my boys work too hard, but you in particular.”

The first taste of shochu was a pleasant, familiar burn on Subaru’s tongue. The lounge wasn’t full and there was really no one of interest, so he sat at the bar, sipping at his glass of cheap shochu, which somehow managed to always remain full, and listened to the sound of the Mama-san---no first or last name---teasing the other patrons. It was rare these days that he felt much of anything, but there were times, like tonight, when something deep inside him stirred and made him remember that he was, in fact, not dead yet.

Like many things, Subaru himself did not realize it, but there was a very particular reason he had grown attached to this bar. And it had nothing to do with its clientele.

People came and went, and when required to do so, Subaru went through the motions of conversation. As time passed and he moved further and further past a state of sobriety, it became obvious to him that tonight’s excursion was an exercise in futility and he motioned for the check. 

“No luck tonight, I see.” The Mama-san scribbled a lower-than-expected number on a scrap piece of paper and placed it in front of him. 

“I suppose not.” Subaru pulled a crisp 10,000 yen bill from his wallet and it on the tray that had helpfully appeared.

“This is too much, Takeshi-kun,” she scolded. “You always give too much.”

“No,” Subaru replied as he pushed the bar stool back and stood, swaying just the slightest of bits. “I don’t.” 

“He’s out there, you know.” The bill disappeared into the Mama-san’s apron pocket and his glass was whisked away. There would soon be no trace of his ever having been there. “Whoever it is you’re looking for…”

And although Subaru put his best effort into replying with a convincingly hopeful smile, it wasn’t enough. 

He wasn’t fooling anyone.

****

Tonight, as usual, Seishirou watched the comings and goings of one of the many entertainment districts that dotted their fair city. Each had its own charm: its own _je ne sais quoi_ that set it apart from all the others. This one, for example, was known as the place where men could search for comfort---whether for a single night or an entire lifetime---in the embrace of other men.

This district was the one where his prey had attempted find escape and solace over the years. And for that entire time, Seishirou had been there, a silent observer. But tonight, he was finished just watching. 

Tonight, he was ready to step in and take back the lead in this whole sordid story. And he knew just what was going to happen next.


End file.
